


Damn That Man

by the_obiwan_for_me



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forgiveness, One Shot, Satine is pissed, Satine is sick of this nonsense, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_obiwan_for_me/pseuds/the_obiwan_for_me
Summary: When Duchess Satine Kryze finds out that Obi-wan Kenobi is in fact NOT dead, despite having attended his funeral, she is left feeling angered and betrayed. Will she and Obi-wan be able to move past the lies forced on those closest to him for the sake of his mission?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Damn That Man

She found out from Padmé

At the end of a long, exhausting day, stifling her grief to remain the ever calm, strong leader of Mandalore, Padmé had called her. 

“Satine, he’s alive. It was all a ruse. He was undercover.”

She fought her knees’ demands to give way. She would _not_ be reduced to a quaking mess again because of that damn man. 

“I’m _sorry-_ it was a _ruse?”_ She forced herself to maintain her regal, clipped tone. She would not be weak _again_ because of that damn man.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. He told Anakin that if those closest to him thought he was truly gone, so would Dooku,” Padmé said, an edge of indignation even in her usual calm voice. Satine wondered how many bridges he burned with this stunt, if even Padmé , patient practically to a fault Padmé, was angry. 

“Well, these Jedi certainly do have creative ways of solving problems,” Satine spat out. It was far from what she wanted to say. The speech she wanted to unleash on that damn man, the anger and grief she wanted to spit at him, roiled in her mind, a furious mix of Mando’a and Basic, jumbling in her head. Maybe, if he ever had the balls to face her, she would scream at him in Mando’a alone. It was a good, strong language. Much better suited for angry words.

Or maybe she would unleash on him with a deadly calm. A hot, quiet rage. Yes, that would be better. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her passion, in any form.

She kept this to herself. On the outside, she remained calm, passive. Even for her friend, a woman she trusted, an ally, she would not break again because of that damn man.

Padme was speaking. Satine snapped out of her impassioned internal speech writing and focused on the hologram of her friend. “I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to hear it via the holonet. I...I know how close you are to him. I know how hard you had taken his death.”

Yes. Yes, she had taken it hard. She had promised herself on the trip to Coruscant, to the temple, for his funeral, that she would not break. But watching his body disappear, burn, had torn her soul in two. She _had_ broken. She had shattered into pieces. She’d wept, her usual mask of serenity ripped away. Among the stoic and quiet Jedi, she had come apart, as if her very soul had left her.

And all for that damn man who was now, apparently, alive and well. 

Padmé said her farewells. Satine, alone with her anger and grief, sat down heavily on her sofa. Damn that man. 

_Damn him._

* * *

Two days. It took that damn man two days to reach out to her. 

She did not take his call. She would not do this through a holoprojector. He would face her like a man, or he could go to hell. 

She did not say that, of course. She would not let her aids see her fury. She stayed cool, polite. “Please tell Master Kenobi I am unable to speak with him at present, but he may leave a message if he cares to.” Polished. Steady. A mask of peace. 

She watched his message in private later, in her office. Or started to watch it. _“Your Highness, I-“_

She paused it. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say to his _highness_ . She wanted to know what he had to say to her. To _Satine_. She studied him. That dreadful beard was gone, his handsome face exposed once more, a black eye prominent. His face was thinner, though, than she ever remembered. Even in their youth, as they often barely had enough food to sustain them, it had never seemed so thin. His thick, glorious hair, too, had fallen prey to a razor. How sad. She’d so loved combing her fingers- 

No. She would not reminisce over fond memories of that damn man. She studied his frozen image for another minute, then shut off the projector, and retired for the night. 

_Damn him._

* * *

  
  


Late in the day of the third day, he arrived. 

“Your Highness,” her aid entered her office quietly. “Master Kenobi is requesting a moment with you.”

Satine gently pressed a hand to her head. Forced composure on herself. “Ahh, yes. Thank you. Please give me ten minutes. I’ll need to wrap a few things up before giving Master Kenobi an audience.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness.” The aid bowed, went to leave. 

“Oh, and please bring a tea service for us, as well.” She would not let her fury at that damn man make her inhospitable. 

“Yes, Your Highness.” The aid left quietly. 

Satine rose steadily to her feet, entered her private fresher. She splashed cold water on her face, breathed deep, arms braced on the glass vanity, eyes closed as she prepared herself to face him. She would not break over this damn man. Not again.

She walked back into her office, breathing evenly, shoulders squared. She rehearsed what she would say to him. Let the words form in her head. Promised herself she would keep her voice cool, calm, instead of letting him see her full fury. He would not get passion from her, not in any form. She promised herself that.

When the ten minutes expired, she was standing, looking out her window, down at the gardens below. Her aid entered quietly, announcing Master Kenobi and deposited the tea service. She stood still, calm. The door closed behind the aid. 

“Satine, I-“

“ _Di’kuut jetii,”_ Satine hissed as she whirled to face him. 

That was not how she had planned this to start. 

“Satine, I am truly sorry,” he started again, hands clasped in front of him. 

“You are a son of a bitch, Kenobi.” No, this was not how she planned it. 

The damn man had the audacity to look contrite. Remorseful. Pained. Damn him. 

“Satine, my love, you have to understand-“

“That we had to believe you were dead. Yes, Obi-wan, I have heard that ridiculous excuse. That horrific excuse meant to mollify your friends. The people who _love_ you.” She lowered herself to the sofa, began preparing their tea. Yes. This was better. Her words may be reckless and heated, but she would not lose her regal demeanor. 

Obi-wan, she noted, was caught off guard. He paused, standing just inside the closed door for a beat too long, before moving to sit next to her on the sofa. She handed him his tea- lots of milk, as always- and picked up her own. “I cannot even begin to explain the level of pain which you have caused me. I _died_ when you did, Obi-wan. You shattered me.” She felt the sting of tears and the hitch in her breath. She would _not cry_ again over this man. 

Obi-wan, pensive and stricken, placed his tea on the table. Gently took hers from her hands and did the same. He moved closer to her and gathered her hands with his. She pulled to free herself from him, not wanting to be touched by this damn man who seems to be on a holy mission to break her heart time and time again. He didn’t stay when they were young. He told her he would have if _she_ had asked. He dies. And, now here he is, risen from the dead. She hates him for all the grief he has caused her. But she loves him despite it. 

_Damn him._

He does not let her pull from his grasp. “Satine, my love, I could live a thousand years, and say I’m sorry to you each morning and each evening, and it still wouldn’t make up for it.” He strokes his thumbs across her knuckles, and a tear falls from _his eyes._

_Damn him!_

“Satine, I regret the whole mission. All the decisions. They were foolhardy, and, I now realize, cruel to those I mislead for the integrity of the mission.” More tears from him. She holds fast, unwilling to let her tears follow. 

“ _Mislead?!_ What an innocuous little word for the amount of pain you caused.” Her fire is renewed, so she pulls away from him and his tears and his apologies, and goes back to her window. 

“I’m not sure what else I can say, Satine.” She can see him approaching in the reflection. “All I can do is say I’m sorry. And I’m here. I’m here now, Satine. In the flesh.”

He’s directly behind her now, and her eyes meet his in the reflection. She sees a broken man. The sweet, kind face she fell in love with, freed from the dreadful beard, is still there, but the eyes are tired and sad. Haunted. His face is marked with creases and lines. Not from smiling and laughing, as she imagined his face would eventually look when they were young, but from worry and pain and constant, never ending stress. 

_Damn this war._

His eyes plead to her, but he does not touch her. Doesn’t move closer, allowing her the space, the time, she needs. He’s a smart man, she thinks. She looks away, down into the gardens below, and then back to his sorrowful eyes. Then she grants her tears permission to fall. 

In an instant, Satine is in his arms, and she weeps. At first she thinks they are the tears of anger, of pain, that she had held back since the funeral. But then she realized they were tears of relief. Because her Obi-wan _was_ here. Not just alive, but here, breathing the same air, his strong arms holding her flush to his powerful frame. He was here, with her, holding her. 

How long they stood like that, tightly wrapped in each other’s embrace, she didn’t know. She felt his own tears soak the shoulder of her gown. Felt his tunic grow damp with hers. It must have been a fair while, as the sun had settled low in the sky above Sundari’s dome when he finally pulled away, only to sit them both back down on the sofa. 

She kissed him then, softly, but with a fire. His hands moved to her, one in her hair, one along the curve of her waist, pulling her closer to him. She broke from him, but only just far enough to rest her head to his. “I do love you, Ben.” 

He smiled at the nickname. “And I love you, Satine.” He kissed her, just once. “And I _am_ sorry.” He kissed her again, his hands now cupping her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. 

She pulled away, and met his gaze. “I forgive you, my love.” He smiled, a sad sort of smile, and a tear ran down his cheek, and she brushed it away. Then traced the bruise around his left eye. “Did you do this on your mission?”

He pulled her hand from his face and kissed it, chuckling. “No, no. I’m afraid that was a friend’s response to finding out I wasn’t dead. Unfortunately for my face, she is not a pacifist like you, and chose violence over words.”

Satine laughed. A proper, real laugh. A first in a long time. “Good for her. I feel I should send her a thank you note for doing what I could not.”

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. “Spoken like a true pacifist. Leave the violence for the rest of us, while you sit back and do nothing.”

“Obi-wan, don’t start with me and ruin our sweet moment!”

He grabs her hands and peppers her knuckles with kisses. “I’m not, me dearest. I tease. This shiner was well and truly earned and you _should_ thank her.”

Satine smiles again, and pulls him close. “I’m so glad you are here with me, my Ben.” She kisses him. 

Damn him, she thinks. I can’t help but love this damn man. 

* * *

Their time together is far too brief, but it is still time together, with no Jedi agenda or plots to pull her home apart. So, they make the most of it. A simple dinner in her private apartments, and an evening filled with the type of lovemaking they rarely got to truly enjoy in their youth, when physical intimacy required stolen moments and subterfuge. When they finally slept, they did so wrapped in each other, breaths matched, hearts beating in unison. 

The morning came far too soon. Obi-wan, already gone from his post too long, left her on the landing platform with a gentle kiss to her cheek, and whispered promises to each other that he would return at the end of it all, and he would be with her, in the flesh, for the rest of their days. They just had to see the end, he promised. “I love you, Satine,” he whispered one last time before turning and walking up the ramp of his ship. 

_Damn that man._

**Author's Note:**

> I do love Satine Kryze (and Mandalorians, in general), so I hope I did her justice with this. 
> 
> I really like to think that Obi-wan went on a apology tour of the galaxy for hurting everyone he loves with that stupid mission. And, sadly, I have to think that his visit to apologize to Satine would probably have been their last brief chance at any happiness together. So, yeah, sorry for that.
> 
> Mando'a translation:  
> Di'kuut jetii- idiot Jedi (I really wanted to her to call him a "fucking Jedi" in Mando'a, but I couldn't find a good enough swear to pack that punch!)


End file.
